About Barbers (For A2 Elementary Level Learners)

English story Level 2 PDF Book – About Barbers By Mark Twain – Free Download

About Barbers” is a short and funny story written by Mark Twain, a famous American author. This version is made easier for English learners at Level 2. It uses simple words and grammar so you can enjoy reading and also learn new vocabulary. In the story, the writer visits a barbershop and has a very strange and uncomfortable experience. He waits a long time, watches the barbers work, and finally sits in the chair.

But the barber talks too much, works too slow, hurts him with the razor, and tries to sell him many things. The story is full of humor, real-life feelings, and a little sarcasm. If you want to read something easy and interesting, this English story Level 2 PDF is a great choice. Download the English story Level 2 PDF now and enjoy a fun classic from Mark Twain.

This story was rewritten by LearnEnglish-new.com for English learners. Enjoy reading the story and improve your English skills!

About Barbers

By Mark Twain

Contents

Chapter One:     The Same Old Barbershop

Chapter Two:    The Long Wait

Chapter Three:  The Barber’s War

Chapter Four:    Finally Free

Chapter One

The Same Old Barbershop

Some things in the world change all the time. But barbers, their shops, and the way they work — these things never change. What a man sees and feels the first time he visits a barber’s shop will be the same every time for the rest of his life.

One morning, I wanted a shave. I walked down the street, and as I turned the corner, a man entered the barbershop just before me. I hurried to catch up, but I was too late. The only empty chair was the best one — the one used by the best barber — and the man sat in it.

I looked at the two other barbers. One of them had already started working on a customer. The second barber was still brushing and oiling the man’s hair, not yet ready. I chose to wait, hoping that the first barber would finish first and I could take his chair.

I watched both barbers carefully. I wanted the better one, of course. At first, the one I liked more was ahead — I thought he would finish first. But soon, he stopped to change a bath ticket for a new customer, and he fell behind. The other barber caught up, and now they were almost the same. My heart beat faster. Who would finish first? Who would say “Next!”?

Then, just as he was about to finish, the better barber stopped again — this time to comb the man’s eyebrows. That small delay was enough. I knew I had lost the chance. He finished second. Angry and disappointed, I got up and left the shop.

But outside, I changed my mind. I still needed a shave, and I didn’t want to wait again. So I stayed outside for fifteen minutes, hoping to return when the best chair was free.

Chapter Two

The Long Wait

I waited fifteen minutes outside. Then I decided to go back into the shop. I hoped the best chair would be free. But when I entered, I saw that all the chairs were taken. Four more men were already waiting. They sat in silence, looking bored and uncomfortable — just like men always do in barbershops when they are waiting.

I sat on the hard, old sofa and tried to pass the time. I read the strange advertisements on the walls. They were about magic hair products that promised to stop grey hair or make hair grow fast. I looked at the dusty names on the bottles. Then I read the small numbers on the shaving cups, and stared at the old pictures on the walls — battles, presidents, and drawings of women lying on sofas.

There was also a parrot in a cage, and a canary singing loudly. Both of them made me angry. Their noise was sharp and annoying. I thought, “Why do all barbershops have birds like these?”

Finally, I picked up an old newspaper from the dirty table. It was torn and full of silly stories that didn’t even seem true. I tried to read, but my mind was elsewhere. I just wanted my turn to come.

Then — at last — a voice said: “Next!”

I stood up. But of course, it was Barber No. 2 who called me. It’s always like that. I walked slowly to the chair and said, “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

He looked at me as if he didn’t hear. Then he pushed my head back, and put a napkin around my neck. His fingers went into my collar like claws. It was uncomfortable.

He touched my hair and said, “You need a trim.”

“I don’t want a trim,” I answered quickly.

He didn’t listen. He pulled at my hair again and said, “It’s too thick. Just a little taken off.”

“No,” I said. “I had a haircut only a week ago.”

He looked at my hair for a moment, thinking. Then he asked with a strange voice, “Who cut it?”

I replied, “You did!”

That surprised him. He didn’t say anything, just started mixing the soap with his brush. Then he rubbed it into my face, moving my head up and down.

He stopped sometimes to look at my skin in the mirror — maybe to find pimples or small cuts. Then he shaved one side of my face carefully. Before starting the other side, he ran to the window. There was a dog fight outside. He watched it all and even made a bet with another barber.

This gave me a little happiness.

Then he came back and started rubbing more soap on my face.

Chapter Three

The Barber’s War

The barber began to sharpen his razor on an old piece of cloth. He was slow, because he was telling a story. He had been at a costume party the night before, and he wore red clothes and fake fur like a king. The other barbers made fun of him, but he loved the attention. While talking, he looked at himself in the mirror and smiled proudly.

Then, suddenly, he put down the razor and brushed his hair. He made a perfect part in the middle of his head, then pushed the sides back carefully. Meanwhile, the soap on my face was drying and getting itchy.

At last, he began to shave. He pulled my face hard with his fingers to stretch the skin. He moved my head left and right, up and down, like I was a puppet.

When he shaved the soft side of my face, it was okay. But then he moved to the tough side — my chin. He pushed hard, and the pain was terrible. He even grabbed my nose and pulled it up to shave under it! My eyes filled with tears. It hurt, but I said nothing.

Then I noticed something strange — while shaving me, he was also looking around the shop. He saw a dirty lamp in the corner. That reminded me: maybe cleaning the kerosene lamps was one of the barber’s jobs too. I had always wondered who cleaned them.

Soon, the barber stopped again. He looked closely at my chin. I thought, “Where will he cut me next?” But before I could guess, he cut me — right on the end of my chin! I shouted a little, but it was too late.

He cleaned the blood, then powdered the cut. Then he soaked it in bay rum — a kind of alcohol. The pain was strong, but I didn’t cry out. I was too angry.

After that, he rubbed bay rum on my whole face, slapped it with a towel, and said nothing. It was like I wasn’t even a person. Then he poked the cut again with the towel. I couldn’t take it anymore. But he just smiled and asked, “Do you want a shampoo?”

“No!” I said. “I washed it myself yesterday.”

He didn’t care. He said my hair looked terrible and needed help. He offered to sell me a bottle of “Smith’s Hair Glorifier.” I said no. Then he showed me a new perfume — “Jones’s Delight of the Toilet” — and wanted me to buy it.

“No, thanks,” I said again.

Finally, he showed me a tooth-wash and even asked to trade knives with me! I refused everything. I just wanted to leave the shop alive.

Chapter Four

Finally Free

At last, the barber finished. He looked at me proudly, as if he had made a great work of art. But to me, it felt like I had just survived a battle.

He brushed my coat, not to clean it, but to show off. He wanted others to see how much he cared. Of course, his brushing left white soap dust all over my black coat. It looked worse than before.

Then he stepped back, pointed at my face in the mirror, and asked,
“Do you like it?”

I said quietly, “Yes, thank you,” just to end it.

I stood up and walked to the door. But before I could leave, he called,
“Don’t you want your hair oiled?”

“No.”

“Maybe a little perfume?”

“No, thank you.”

“How about a massage?”

“No!” I almost shouted.

Still, he followed me to the door and gave me his business card. It had his name in big gold letters and promised “Barber and Hair Artist — The Best in Town.”

As I walked outside, the sunlight felt strong and fresh. I was free. My skin was burning, my face still red from the razor, and my coat full of dust. But I was free.

Then, just down the street, I saw another man. He looked clean, calm, and happy. He had probably shaved at home, with no pain, no cuts, no sales talk.

At that moment, I made a decision.

Never again would I go to a barber.

From now on, I would shave at home — even if it meant missing the barber’s stories, his sales pitches, and the waiting room full of old newspapers and parrots.

— THE END –

The Original Version of the Story: americanliterature.com

English story Level 2 PDF